Messe Noire
by Karkasse
Summary: Post Doomstar Requiem. Dethklok rescues their captured band mate, and attempt to return to business as usual. But the occupants of Mordhaus can all see that something is off with their rescued brother... And with an army of enemies, both old and new, the band will have to learn to harness their newfound powers before it is too late. Rated M for violence, language and adult themes.
1. Prologue

Skwisgaar knew he'd had some pretty insane nights during his time with Dethklok... But he knew this was definitely the one that took the cake. Hell, this night took the cake, the plate, and the whole damn table!

Almost being murdered, what, three times? In the mere space of eight or so hours? It was quite a taxing experience in itself. More so than dealing with rabid fans; albeit just barely. Destroying an abhorrent psychopathic fiend, who'd been completely hellbent on annihilating the five of them, _just_ for the (probably) accidental death of his brother... Whoever the hell that was...

Must have been one of the clumsier Klokateers.

Even just the thought of that was enough to make him feel lethargic...

"Eugh... Ams t'inks hard liquors would be reallys a goods about nows... I means, wes deserves it afters all dis craps, eh?" The Swede sighed out, struggling to shoulder the alarmingly now non-existent weight of the staggering rhythm guitarist. He just prayed to the gods that he didn't accidentally drop him.

Usually, dropping the sloppy lightweight flat on his ass on the pavement somewhere would be perfectly fine for Skwisgaar, but Toki wasn't shit-faced this time, and it was technically their neglect that had left him like this. Not that they would ever really admit that...

Hell, he looked so damn frail that Skwisgaar almost swore he's shatter like glass against the skid marked bitumen.

The grumbled statement was met with hushed agreement, before the six of them once again fell into an rather awkward silence. None of them dared to speak, and in all honestly, none of them wished to. They just didn't have the energy; they couldn't, after everything they'd seen, after the horrors they had been witnesses to.

Besides, no one wanted to risk being chewed out by Abigail again.

Not even Nathan had the capability to handle her rage after Murderface had made a particularly snide comment about Toki's current worryingly enervated state.

Still, he couldn't stifle the scoffed chortle that slithered through his clenched teeth at the bassist's stunned expression... It earned him a strew of lisped curses and a flash of a stumpy middle finger, but that bothered him none. The pudgy musician was even less intimidating than a drunken Pickles, even on a good day.

Skwisgaar had to give her credit though. Besides a few bruises, a bit of a limp and a mottled splattering of dried, flaking blood, the record cleaner seemed... Well... Fine. It was almost like she hadn't been tied to a cross and dangling from the ceiling not half an hour ago.

He couldn't look at Toki, however. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't push himself to do so. He'd seen how terrible he'd look within the makeshift torture chamber; how battered and broken and beaten he was. The weak whimpers and hoarse gasps for breath were enough of a tribute to whatever agony he was in, and now in the light of a burning sunrise, Skwisgaar couldn't bare to even glance at the malnourished man dangling lifelessly at his side.

He felt guilty enough as it was.

"Don't worrys, Tokis. Wes gots you nows, and wes ams goings to gets you homes, ja?" He murmured quietly, giving the emancipated man's skeletal wrist a wary squeeze.

Still, he couldn't hide the wave of concern that white washed his features at the choked wheeze he received as acknowledgment; from a voice so scratchy and as fissured as land after years of drought. A voice near unrecognisable.

"N-need... Tos.. S-sleeps..."


	2. Of Blood And Salt

_This life is so dead, consuming to the bone_

 _Expand the pieces crushing to the face of all_

 _From equal slayers of the earth, I hear the moan_

 _A wretch destroys to wipe us from this race._

* * *

"Hey. Skwisgaar. Hey!"

"Nat'n..."

"Dildo, wake up."

"Dood, jus' leave him alone. Probably can't even hear yew anyways."

"I would leave him alone, but he's being fuckin' stupid and the nurses are starting to fuckin' complain to me. I don't want to have to deal with this shit too. It's not like Toki's gonna wake up anytime soon anyway."

"Yew know that, and I know that, but yew and I also know that he ain't gonna listen when we tell him that."

A weary groan tore the two men from their insignificant bickering, and the both of them glanced down in time to catch the pained grimace distorting the Scandinavian's pointed features; their own twisting up into phantoms of amused smirks - even if only for a brief moment in time...

"Stupids fuckings hallways gots to bes so fuckings uncomfortskables. Why de fucks am'nst dey invents fuckings pillow walls or some bullshits likes dats eh...? I feels like I's fuckings fallens seven stories and landeds flats on my fuckings ass..." Skwisgaar grumbled icily, rolling his aching neck and stretching out his cold-stiffened fingers to rub rawly at his bloodshot eyes; pushing aside the guitar that sat splayed, strings down across his lap.

Nathan was the first to break the silent air between the trio - by letting out a grunt of obvious annoyance and rolling his bruise-rimmed eyes with not-so-subtle irritation; his brawny arms coming to cross tautly over his broad chest. "Well maybe that's because hallways aren't meant to be fuckin' slept in for three days straight, dildo. Go and sleep in a proper bed, Skwisgaar. In your room, not on the fuckin' floor. Don't go ordering some fuckin' Klokateers to bring you a mattress or some bullshitif that's what you're thinking. Oh, and uh, take a shower while you're at it. We could smell you as soon as we got out of the fuckin' elevator. I don't wanna start having to deal with nurses complaining about how bad you smell too because you're being a dumbass and sitting outside Toki's hospital room like a total ass-licker."

The Swede managed to struggled to his feet as Nathan chewed him out, hand pressed firm against the wall to keep him upright as he brushed off the verbal onslaught with cold indifference. "I can'ts leaves. I gots to stays here in case he... In case he wakes ups soons..."

'And I gots to bes here incase he takes a turns for de worsts...' Echoed pensively in his mind.

The words were shaky and meek, and had the both of them not grown accustomed to his swede-lish, the quiet statement would have been completely lost to them both. "I gots tos stays here to bes wit' Tokis when he ams awakes. I... Wants to apoljiseks as soon as his eyes ams opens..." He muttered again, his own deep-set eyes downcast to the scuffed leather of his boots; still flaked with mud and blood and whatever other filth they had encountered within the bowels of that horrid dungeon.

He couldn't stifle the sickened shudder at the simple thought of that desolate hole...

"Skwisgaar, dood. Toki ain't ghenna be wakin' up anytime soon. And bhesides, don't yew think he needs the rest? I mean, after all thet shit with Magnus and thet weird mesked dood..." Pickles interjected, arms too coming to cross over his chest; taking a firm step to barricade the closed hospital door with his impish frame. "They got him in an induced coma or somethin' anyways. So even if he wanted to wake up, he won't be for a while man."

"Ams in an induced comas?!" His voice jump nearly two octaves in shock; a lithe hand bunching the black fabric of his muscle shirt, like a timid little child. He had to have heard wrong. They had to have heard wrong. They wouldn't put him in a coma, would they? No, he wasn't in a coma. Skwisgaar just needed to see him. Yeah, he'd be awake by now... Surely. He'd be okay... He'd get better and then be back to his perfectly happy and irritating self...

He had to be...

"Yeah. Why did you think they weren't letting you into see him, idiot? They said that he was freaking out and acting like he was still tied up and that all the stress he was putting on himself is bad for recovery or some medical shit like that, so they knocked him out for a while. At least until get things under control or something. I guess I get it though. Kid's gone through alotta shit. If it helps, then it helps. Fuckin' sucks but whatever." The raven-haired man stated with a shrug. Skwisgaar almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. How the hell could Nathan and Pickles be acting so damn casual about all this?! Toki was lying practically dead in a goddamn hospital bed and they were acting as if they were discussing a fucking TV show!

"Ams whos fuckings faults ams dis eh? Tokis almost fuckings died because we were toos selfish tos goes and rescues hims, like a bunch of fuckings pussies." Skwisgaar hissed icily, hands balling up into quivering fists; his gaunt features twisting into an ireful snarl. "We saws hims fuckings gets stabbed in the fuckings back, and we solves our fuckings problems by partyings and actings like fuckings nothing ams wrong!"

"Dis ams such fuckings BULLSHITS! HE AMS ALMOST DEADS BECAUSE OF US!" Skwisgaar roared furiously, his leather-clad foot slamming into the pale wall with a mighty thud. This was all their fault. It was all equally their fault! Naïve, innocent, trusting Toki, unconscious in an uncomfortable hospital bed, with what was probably a billion tubes attached to him, beaten and broken and mangled because they were all too fucking selfish to rescue their band mate.

His pathetic little inner monologue was, however, swiftly cut off as a pair of massive hands landed square on his chest, shoving him back so hard that he almost toppled over the thunderhorse that sat, untouched, upon the linoleum floor. Eyes blazing with burning fury, the Scandinavian turned upon his assailant, hands balled into trembling fists, molars grinding in a futile attempt to calm himself. Nathan, however, stood his ground, defensively-stanced and tense-shouldered; his jaded eyes narrowed to icy slits.

'Don'ts fights with Nathan, don'ts fights with hims or you ams goings to loose teeths...'

"Get a fucking grip, Skwisgaar. We know this is our fuckin' fault. We all know this is our fuckin' fault. You think Abigail hasn't given me hell about it the entire fuckin' time she's been back? There's nothing we can fucking do for Toki right now, so I suggest you go and have some fucking dinner or some shit, take a fuckin' shower, and go to fuckin' bed, before I fucking knock you out and lock you in your FUCKING ROOM!" Nathan snarled right back, taking a menacing step towards the lead guitarist. He was _not_ in the mood for Skwisgaar's guilt-tripping bullshit so fucking late at night.

For almost a minute, a tense silence stretched on between the two clashing Titans; so much so that Pickles even chose to back off, his hands raised defensively. He wasn't getting involved in any goddamn fights when he was semi-sober.

Speaking of which, a schooner or five sounded pretty damn appealing...

But as swiftly as the confrontation had begun, it broke off with Skwisgaar arrogantly pivoting on his heel. He bent down to recollect his treasured instrument, adjusting the strap and affixing the axe to its resting place upon his back.

"Fines. Fucks de boths of yous."

And with that, he stormed off, after taking one last, fleeting glance at his currently bedridden pal; an utterance of obscenities spewing from his lips as he trudged down the sterile halls. "Fuckings jackoffs dildos tit-bitch shitbag prick fucks..."

"Dood, do yew think yew might'a been a little hard on him? I mean, he may be takin' it to the extreme, but he's just worried about Toki. We all are..." Pickles mused aloud, turning to face his behemoth counterpart; pierced brows raised in skepticism.

"I know he is, Pickles. But him not fuckin' looking after himself just so he can fuckin' sit outside a hospital room that he isn't even allow into is really fuckin' stupid and you know it." Nathan grumbled through clenched teeth, arms once again crossing over his chest as the blonde disappeared into the elevator with a final parting gift of the finger flipped in their general direction.

"So. It sounds like that no-carin' rule is out the window huh?"

"Yeah, I guess it has to go now. What with all this bullshit and the whole almost dead Toki issue..."

"Awesome. It's about fuckin' time

"...What?"

"Nuthin'... Aye, dood, let's go ask how he's doing before we go get Jean-Pierre to make us food."


	3. Your Disposal

_At dawn we rise to an apocalyptic paradise_

 _Where we take our fill_

 _Where life is killed_

 _Where death lays his bones_

 _Where we hang the rope_

 _Where we take our toll_

 _Where we dug our hole_

* * *

Doing as he was instructed, the gangly Scandinavian kvetchingly stormed from the barren hospital, heading in the direction of the band's bedrooms, determined to get as far away from those two assholes as he could - and hopefully avoid anyone else while he was at it. It was an embarrassment to be seen in such an unnatural state. So dirty and unkempt and emotional. For him, at least.

He left his guitar behind, gently setting it down on his bed, and after a lengthy deliberation, decided at least a brief shower would probably be best. He felt filthy, and he didn't particularly wish to be reminded of how terrible he looked, or how horrid he smelled. He knew it'd probably help to clear his head too... Give him time to think. Hopefully.

besides, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't starting to smell his disgusting body odour himself...

Skwisgaar did, albeit begrudgingly, have to admit that having a shower was relaxing; not that he would disclose that openly to Nathan and Pickles. It didn't take much to imagine their smug, shit-eating grins if he were to relay such information to them. Still, the hot water did wonders to soothe his aching body and abolish the tangled knots of stress that had become embedded so deeply within his muscles.

At least, it had been peaceful and relaxing.

Until Toki once again began to plague his mind...

Even then, he couldn't get the thought of lugging his practically lifeless body through the desolate streets, attempting not to throw up at the stench of sweat and gore and stale piss that clung to the younger male; attempting not to jerk away as warm blood began to seep from wounds unseen to stain his pale skin.

Taking longer than originally planned, Skwisgaar stood beneath the blistering stream of water; rinsing the dirt and grease from his wheat-gold tresses. He picked and scratched at his dirty fingers, scrubbing every crevice and expanse of skin until the pale flesh was left red and angry, raw in places even.

He had to. It was the only way to get his blood off.

Fucking Toki.

Always having to ruin whatever peace he could find solace in...

There would be no rest tonight, not after such a gruesome reminder of his guilt. Regardless, sleep had been the last thing on his agenda anyway. It hadn't been entirely peaceful, or useful, but he's recovered a few hours of sleep in the hospital hallway, and for now, it was good enough for him.

He had other things he would rather do than sleep anyhow...

The door eased open with an eerie creak, and Skwisgaar timidly tarried across the invisible threshold; the heavy mahogany door closing with an echoed chirr and a gentle click. The air was musty and stagnant from weeks of silent stillness, trapped in a room with near to no airflow. It was malodorous really, but he paid it no heed. Skwisgaar was close to being used to it by now. Not entirely. But almost.

Slipping into Toki's bedroom had become a sort of daily ritual for him now. It was calming, in a way. The way he could imagine him, jittery and excited as he sat at his desk, marked with paint stains and clear globs of long-dried glue; a half constructed plane clasped delicately in one hand, piecing the miniature replica together with the joy of a child.

It worked well to dull the aching throb and seething guilt in the past few desolate months...

Blue eyes wandered inquisitively around the tiny bedroom, seemingly sized for a child, and littered with nearly toy-like models of planes and ships; spindly fingers trailing lightly over the propeller blades of what appeared to be a miniature of the Red Baron's plane. A weary smile twisted up Skwisgaar's lips.

He remembered that plane. He'd been out shopping with Toki. He remembered Toki's childlike excitement as they had passed the hobby store, and could recall how his fingernails had dug deep into the flesh of his wrist as he begged Skwisgaar to just 'haves a look with mes'. The distinctive smell of dank must and paint thinners that wafted though dark store burned at his nostrils in recollection of the memory, and he swore he could even hear the disembodied voice of the cheerful old man with a white comb-over and thick glasses that greeted had them from behind the counter, cluttered with papers and tubes of glue and Odin knows what else.

He remembered being dragged mercilessly through aisles and aisles of replica models and tubes of paint and brushes and various tools, and he remembered the silent awe Toki had been entranced in when his bright eyes befell the brilliant red plane. Skwisgaar could even remember, in vivid detail, the unceremonious little jive that the younger man had performed after making his purchase; the blue box nearly crushed against his chest. It still brought a small, veiled smile to his face, as it had when they were in that stupid store.

It has seemed so stupid, and completely un-metal at the time. Still, it was nice to see how happy a small relatively insignificant, inanimate craft project made him...

It seemed to bring him nearly as much joy as cats did, actually...

"Dumb littles dildos..." Skwisgaar sighed softly, shaking his head as he warily wandered around the tiny room; flicking uninterestedly through a dust coated collection mangled comic books, and tattered colouring books in various stages of completion. His finger tips trailed lightly over the half-coloured images, before finally returning them deftly to their rightful places within the disorganised bookshelf.

In all honesty, to Skwisgaar, it was almost... Concerning; how innocent and child-like the rhythm guitarist really was.

Another sigh slithered through the blonde's scantly chapping lips, smile falling away as he eased himself down onto the tiny bed; mattress springs whining beneath his weight. How the hell was it possible for someone, surrounded by such slander and filth, someone surrounded by death as a daily occurrence, to be so damn innocent?

Toki didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of it. He didn't deserve the childhood abuse that left him naive and emotionally - perhaps even mentally - stunted. He didn't deserve the shit he received from fans or those who simply wanted to crush his happiness beneath their grimy fingertips. He didn't deserve the shit he copped from the band; from him.

And he sure as Hell didn't deserve whatever demented perdition that the malevolent fuck Magnus had put him through.

He didn't deserve to be trapped in that shit-stained abyss for...

A year.

It has been a year.

It had been a fucking year that they had all left him - and Abigail - down in that festering to rot while they smoke and drank and fucked literally everything up.

A year that they had partied, while Toki was waiting.

Dying.

A choke sob tore its defiant way from his dead vocal chords, his head falling heavily into his calloused hands.

Very few times did Skwisgaar believe he had been that fucking scared in his life. And never had that fear ever been for the well-being of another person.

He'd voluntarily been the one to yank Toki from that hell hole, with little regard for the others, as the building began to crumble. He'd been the one to hold up the emancipated man and support his weight after finding the Norwegian unable to walk of his own accord; no matter how hard he tried to fight against his injuries and malnourishment. It had been he that found out, to his absolute consternation, to what extent the man had been tortured.

* * *

"It ams okej, liten Tokis. Just takes it slows. We amn'ts far from de Dethcopter. Just a couples of miles." Skwisgaar murmured encouragingly, though finding himself struggling to repress the disturbed grimace that contorted his features at the feeling of blood beginning to seep onto his skin, through his clothes; unable to hide the horror of feeling the protruding ribs beneath the battered flesh of the rawboned guitarist.

"Sos thirsty... Needs water..." Came the gravelly response from the younger man, so hoarse and weak that the Swede couldn't help but cringe painfully. "It hurts sos much..."

"I knows, Tokis. Just hangs in there, ja? When we ams ats de Dethcopter, we gets you a nice bigs glass of waters, and den yous cans lays down and gets comfortskables whiles we gets you homes, eh?" Considering how terribly he was struggling to push on already, the older man greatly doubted whether he'd be able to even make it to the helicopter at all...

And it seemed it didn't take too long for his fears to become reality.

They had only made it about another hundred feet or so, and even then Skwisgaar had noticed how much weaker the rhythm guitarist had become. The person he had seen reduce a man's face to a pile of putty with just his fists, now so lethargic and bulimic that he no longer retained the strength to stand of his own accord. Someone who hardly seemed to possess the ability to shut up, so horribly dehydrated that he could scarcely speak.

Quite frankly, it was frightening.

"S-stop. Please! I-I needs to... I can'ts... I needs to stop..." Toki croaked out, struggling fitfully beside Skwisgaar, attempting to retract the arm draped over the taller male's shoulders. "It hurts toos much... I... I can'ts..."

Skwisgaar's brows furrowed deeply, mouth open to question seemingly incomprehensible utterances as he rounded on the young man.

Just in time to catch those blood-filled eyes roll back into his skull.

"Fuckings hell Tokis, don't does dis toos me now!" He snapped, lunging forward to catch the battered brunette, just before he hit the bitumen like a stone dropped in water. Lowering his dead weight gently to the grown, Skwisgaar knelt down aside the limp body, coarse fingers pressed against his throat.

"What'sch happening?" Murderface squawked out, with his usual lisp, before uselessly lumbering over as the others stopped to gawk; Abigail already shoving her way out of Nathan's arms

"Yeah dood, what's wrong with 'im?"

"Does it looks like Is a fuckings doctor? How de fucks ams I supposed to know what de fucks ams wrong with him! He just fuckings passed outs and almost smashed hims face on the ground!" Skwisgaar barked back at the two of them, his panicked gaze meeting the glassy jade eyes of Abigail.

"He's breathing, but there's no way in hell we'll get to the dethcopter soon enough. I'll admit that I'm starting to struggle as well..." She stated, her own voice rough and scratchy as she struggled to her knees beside him, a bloodied hand outstretched upon the Norwegian's chest, drifting with the insignificant rise and fall of his breathing.

"Nathan, call the pilot and tell him to get his ass here now, before things start to go downhill further." She called out, rubbing at her raw eyes before bending down; lips pressed to Toki's ear.

"Don't you go dying on me now, honey. Not after we survived all that. You can't let him win, sweetie. You gotta wake up and live your life and spit that right in that lunatic's face... You promised me, and I'm not going to let you back out now, Toki..."

* * *

Three times.

Three times Toki had almost died on that excruciatingly lengthy flight back to Mordhaus.

Two times Skwisgaar witnessed the medical klokateers jump on top of him and pound down on his protruding sternum to keep him breathing.

One time Skwisgaar witnessed, to his complete abhorrence, as the doctors had charge up a defibrillator to shock the life back into Toki's broken body.

All of them had stood, like bystanders at the scene of terrible car accident, as the medical team worked to keep their bandmate alive; filling him with needles and tubes and everything else seemingly known to man, shocked into deathly silence as the tag team of doctors rattled off their assessments verbally. Acting as if the others didn't even exist.

"Multiple penetrating trauma injuries, showing possible signs of sepsis... Two broken digits on the right hand."

They'd lost Nathan then, whose vivid eyes were glazed over; all colour sucked from his face as he muttered something about going to look for Abigail, and needing to vomit.

"Severe blunt force trauma to chest and head regions. Multiple facial lacerations... Displaced nasal bridge, subconjunctival hemorrhage..."

Skwisgaar had walked off after that, unable to listen to whatever other grievous bodily harm he had been subjected to, swiftly followed by Pickles; who looked to be on the verge of simultaneously crying and throwing up.

"Gawd, that's... That's so fecked up. I ghetta say, it's pretty damn amazing that he's still alive. I mean, who knows what else thet crazy fucker did to 'im..." Pickles whispered in a state of awe, after a few eerie minutes of dead silence. Skwisgaar could only nod curtly, and attempt to swallow down the asphyxiating lump that had risen within his throat, threatening to suffocate him; his own icy eyes burning with the raging fire of encroaching tears.

"Pickle, ifs you amn'ts mind, I woulds... I woulds likes to be alones right nows..." He'd managed to choke out, his eyes locked on the approaching red glow of their fortress home; attempting desperately to drown out the medical jargon he could hear being shouted from the main area of the aircraft.

* * *

A dreary sigh crawled through the Swede's lips, eyes once again aflame with blinding tears as he slumped over heavily, breathing deep the scent of Toki that clung to the fibers of his pillow; lithe fingers twisting nervously into the plush body of the rhythm guitarist's beloved Deddy Bear.

It seemed that now, even if he were to wish for sleep, his mind would now no longer grant him the luxury of a few, brief, guiltless hours of peaceful blackness.

A defiant tear dribbled down a gaunt cheek.

God fucking damn it...


	4. The Patient

_If there were no desire to heal_

 _A damaged and broken man along_

 _This tedious path I've chosen here_

 _I certainly would've walked away by now._

 _And I still may..._

* * *

It has been a displaced, distorted howl of a bent guitar sting that had stirred him from his unwarranted - and also rather uncomfortable - slumber, and Skwisgaar regarded it with a snarled curse and a rumbling growl. However, he couldn't be certain whether the volatile reaction was targetted at the dumb dildo jack-off had woken him up with some stupid message, or whether it self-targetting anger in regards to the fact that he had managed fallen asleep in the first place. Sleeping hadn't even been on the damn agenda for Skwisgaar. He'd been happy enough siphoning whatever alcohol Toki still had hidden throughout his room and stressing himself out by overthinking fucking everything - all the while hoping that he'd miraculously get some message that would inform him of the Norwegian's awakening.

Yeah, he wished he'd be that damn lucky…

For the first few moments of waking, Skwisgaar had considered ignoring whatever the hell it was, throwing a pillow over his head and going back to his restless sleep. In all honesty, he just wanted to roll over, close his eyes, and not have to deal with anything for at least about three months. And maybe give himself a chance to sleep off his damned hangover…

Perhaps a " _brief_ " vacation was in order after everything was all dandy and back to normal…

At least in regards to the whole Toki issue...

With another liquor-soaked groan, the Swede allowed his eyes to slip shut, a lanky arm precariously thrown over his haggard features; mentally debating whether to get up before the need to explain his little sleep over in the rhythm guitarist's room or not. But Skwisgaar knew sure as hell that he'd never hear the goddamn end of it if he didn't reply to that stupid text soon, regardless of who it had been sent by. Besides, there was always the possibility of the relayed message being of some form of importance to him. Of course, that not exactly likely if it turned out was from Murderface, or if Pickles was in one 'those' drunk moods.

Still a possibility of them messaging with some importance; albeit, still highly unlikely.

Bleary eyed and furrow-browed, the Swede sluggishly lifted his heavy head from the supposed make-do pillow he must have grabbed in his drunkenness; Toki's stupid plush deddy bear. It seemed in whatever dumb-ass drunken state he had ended up in last night had forced him to completely mangle the bedding in his attempt to get into the damn thing, leaving the sheets in various states of untuck and the single pillow somehow cast right across the room.

No wonder his neck hurt so fucking much...

Still, the dumb and musty-scented toy did seem to help him sleep somewhat, even if it was only minimal. The softness of the dumb toy was actually rather... comforting. Even if only slightly. Maybe that's why Toki seemed so damn protective of the aged stuffed animal.

He made a mental note to at least get someone to take it to the hospital for him, seeing as the rest of the band had now gone out of their way to prohibit him from even entering the damn lobby.

Then again, it wasn't like Toki would even notice the bear's absence anyhow.

Not with being in that goddamn medically induced coma bullshit and all.

The bend squealed through the tinny speaker of his phone once again, and with another hissed curse, the Swede violently snatched the buzzing device from its resting place upon the floor. "Dis better bes fuckings importants or I swears to fuckings Odin I ams going to kills whoever de fucks ams textingsk mes so fuckings earlies..."

Squinting against the harsh light of the screen, he managed to unlock his phone and lower the brightness to something more suitable for his aching eyes; groggily tapping on the messages app, slumping heavily back against the tiny, rock-hard mattress. It was almost a sigh of relief that slithered through his lips at the sight of Nathan's name. Well, at least with him there was a higher possibility of the message including information that could be of some importance.

Unless he'd found tequila of course...

'Abi discharged. Stil lil batturd n bruised n shit, n stil pretty pissed but got the all clear. Didn't end up as bad as T, just the stab wound n sum othr minor shit. Wnts to speak to u later. Idk y. Wudnt tell me. Also watched that annoyin dipshit dr re-break T's nose with these weird metal tong thngs. Herd the crunch. Fukn brutal. Kinda disapointed there wasnt any blood and shit tho. Wud hav been so metal if blood was lik floodin out of his nostrils

'Shud probably tell u that dr dickhead said he can have visitors now. So u can come up, but don't get all fukn weird and shit again. If I catch u like sleeping in his hospital room or smthin, I'm goin to tell everyone ur a closet homo. He's still fkn uncunsius tho. Idk when he gunna b wake. Reducin the sleep drugs or watevr the fuk they r. They were using to many big words. dr dickhead said he shud hopfully be up in the next day or so, so that's good I gues. Face still realy fukd up. Looks fukn weird with a full beard too. Kinda temptd to wax it off for shits n gigs.'

Well... It wasn't exactly the news he wanted, but it was news nonetheless. And besides, he knew, regardless of how much he wished for it to be true, that he unfortunately wouldn't be receiving a 'he's awake and perfectly normal' message any time soon. At least they were going to let him start going back to the hospital himself, instead of him having to continuously pester the information out of the others on Toki's condition - for relatively good reasons; or have to send in Klokateers as spys for him instead.

He did admit, it was pretty entertaining, however. Even armed with a smartphone that had spell check, Nathan still seemed to struggle with writing legible text messages for the most part; unless he really concentrated on what he wrote. Either that or he just didn't care. Or maybe his giant fingers made it too much of a struggle...

He couldn't help but snicker at that last part.

Still, he'd be lying if he said the thought of Abigail wanting to speak to him didn't have him shitting himself. What the hell would she want to speak to him about anyway? After the whole (rather embarrassing) sex-deprivation fiasco on the Dethsub, they hadn't really talked much; except for when she was recording his guitar tracks.

In fact, that was the only damn time they had ever really spoke to one another.

Was she going to chew him out for not rescuing them earlier? Of course, that wouldn't be surprising, but still... Was she going to have a go at him for being such an asshole to Toki? Plausible... Warn him of some big dark secret she'd found out whilst trapped? Probably not. Inform him of the horrors they endured? Probably...

Most likely wouldn't get a choice in whether he was told or not either...

Skwisgaar attempted to calm himself, hebetudinously dragging himself from the warm confines of the rhythm guitarist's absurdly minuscule bed; kicking over his collection of now-empty 'borrowed' bottles of whatever booze he had been able to get his hands on.

After struggling to clamber out of Toki's stupidly small bed, Skwisgaar bit down on his tongue and roughly ran his lithe fingers through his tangled hair; a waining attempt to keep him from losing his temper, and kicking the shit out of that dwarfish fucking bedframe.

He didn't want to think about having to walk with broken toes…

One of the richest fucking men in the world and the idiot still chose to sleep in a fucking children's bed. Of course, it went with Toki's child-like demeanor, but this was fucking ridiculous. He wasn't very tall either, but even he didn't fit in the damn thing comfortably. Skwisgaar had even seen how his damn legs hung over the end if he'd slept in any position that didn't require him to curl up like a cat.

Hell, he was considering buying a damn new bed for him himself after seeing how damn uncomfortable that one fucking was!

"Fuckings stupids Norsk träskalle..."

With a dreary sigh and another grunted curse, thelanky Swede languidly stretched out his stiffened joints with a gruff groan of satisfaction; slender fingers once again raking through his unkempt and rather greasy golden tresses, electric eyes wandering over his brother's hovel of a bedroom. He'd made an effort to keep the place neat-ish (except for the whole, bed and booze bottles issue) - unwilling to allow any Klokateers to even enter the desolate room in it's master's absence - but compared to the usual standard of tidiness that Toki would normally pride himself with, the room looked like a bloody pig sty.

Alcohol bottles sat, dormant and discarded; whatever liquor once held within the glass confines long since evaporated. Papers and dirty clothing alike lay, strewn across the floor in messy piles, awaiting the moment they would be picked up and sorted through by their MIA owner. His long and well-loved pair of favoured boots, the leather scuffed and torn and distressed from years of use, toes arched up and heels worn down to nothingness sat loyally where they had been tossed, carelessly thrown into the emptiest corner of the room. Exchanged for a pair of scarcely touched dress shoes, planned only to be worn for that godforsaken funeral.

God, they shouldn't have fucking gone to it in the first place. They'd seem like arrogant, rich assholes - well, even more like arrogant rich assholes - but at least then none of this shit would have fucking happened. They could have just been fucking televised at the damn thing, and Nathan could of had his stupid heartfelt apology and they would have all been fucking fine. Toki wouldn't be lying fucking half dead in a fucking hospital, and none of them would have to suffer with all this fucking guilt. No, that little moustached loser would have still been around to annoy them, and they would have been happy - more-or-less - and they could have all had fun pal-ing around. They'd still be arguing over stupid things and Toki would still be whining for a goddamn guitar solo… Things would have been _normal_.

Then again, if they had taken some fucking responsibility, and looked for him the moment that Toki been kidnapped by that crazy asshole and the silver-faced freak, liked they'd originally fucking planned to - rather than go on that stupid fucking party tour around the fucking globe - then this shit probably wouldn't have been a damn major issue either…

With the plan of grabbing a cup of coffee to clear his foggy head and a handful of pills to numb the throbbing pain of his head before heading back over to the hospital, Skwisgaar decided to leave the room in is unfastidious state. It wasn't like he would have time to give it a half decent once-over later anyway.

Albeit, the dead-on-his-feet guitarist's plans were all but completely smashed to pieces when the squeal of his phone's earsplitting ringtone had his heart faltering fearfully within his chest.

"Skwisgaar, I'll keep this call quick. Can you please meet me in the conference room in about five minutes? I need to talk to you, and I feel that this would be a conversation that would be easier... Well, it'll just be better in person, okay? See you soon." And with that, without allowing the blonde a moment to argue, Abigail ended the call as soon as it had begun, leaving the Scandinavian chewing anxiously on his thumbnail.

"Oh, fucks me…"


End file.
